


Hydrophilia

by beederiffic



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Hot, Hotel Sex, M/M, Vacation, Water
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 12:35:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beederiffic/pseuds/beederiffic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Spock go on vacation, and Jim's determined to get a less than enthusiastic Spock wet</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hydrophilia

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the KiScon 2012 zine. I'm not 100% happy with it (even after the rockin' edits arminaa provided for every zine contribution because she's a doll ♥) but it forced me to finish something, so there's that.

“Tell me this place has atmospheric control. I'm about five seconds from becoming a terminal case of heat stroke.” Jim plucked at his shirt, tugging it away from his soaked skin as he jabbed at the room's control panel with a fingertip. “What is it, a hundred fifty degrees in here?”

“The ambient temperature is currently fluctuating between one hundred ten point zero nine degrees and one hundred eleven point zero three degrees Fahrenheit.”

“Close enough.” Kicking off his flip-flops and wriggling out from his shirt, Jim slumped face down over the bed before groaning into a downy pillow. “Figures your dad decided to send us some place so hot it should only register in kelvin. It's the closest he'll ever get to consigning me to an actual hell.”

“We requested his assistance. He gave it.” The bed dipped as Spock sat beside where Jim continued to sprawl face down, grunting and shaking off Spock's hand as it settled on his back.

“Too hot, don't touch. Is it getting any cooler in here? I think the thermostat is broken. Ugh. Did I tell you about that one place in New Lagos I dragged Bones? Where the walls sweated all weekend? This is worse. I might actually be dying.” 

“The temperature in this room is dropping at rate of one degree every ninety seven seconds.” Spock's voice was cool, chilled to perfection. It didn't help.

“That's nowhere near fast enough.” Jim flipped over onto his back to glare up at the slowly-circling ceiling fan. “Is it possible the output from the motor driving that's making it hotter in here?”

“Undoubtedly, but not to a point where either of us would be able to detect it, and the evaporative cooling effect of the circulatory air movements caused by the fan against your perspiring skin --”

“Negates any heat energy generated by the fan itself, yeah, thanks, I was being facetious. Did you get a load of that ceiling?” Jim wriggled into position to lay his head back against Spock's chest once he'd tugged him to lie down. “Incredible. Those carvings were made centuries ago, by blind monks or something.”

Spock shifted slightly beneath Jim's head, his fingertips beginning to slide through Jim's damp hair. “The carvings were completed by artisan devotees of the Basgrah cult, whose photosensitive ganglion cells had evolved through selective breeding and countless millennia of denying themselves sight by the use of ceremonial blindfolding techniques to respond only to an infra-red spectrum ill-served by NCG 2558's yellow dwarf.”

“You say potato, I say blind monks.”

“I do not recall our discussion including mention of tuberous crop vegetables.”

“You're lucky I'm feeling too hot to spank you for that one.” Jim rolled once more, propping his chin on Spock's shoulder and blowing gently into one pointed ear. “However, I've got about enough energy conserved to crawl to the bathroom and stand under a cold shower for the next twenty minutes. Care to join me?”

“I do not.” Spock pursed his lips, apparently aware his dismissal had been somewhat terse. “Thank you for the invitation.”

“Don't give me that look. It's not like I'm inviting you to come watch me take a shit as an exercise in togetherness.”

“An offer I would also decline.”

“Please?” Puppy dog eyes usually worked. Well, sometimes they did. Maybe forty percent of the time. “It'll be refreshing.”

“I am adequately refreshed.”

Jim sighed, dropping his forehead to Spock's chest to rub some more of the sweat off on Spock's tunic, before pushing himself up and out of a bed easily twice the size of the one they'd share in his quarters if shifts allowed and Spock felt like sleeping. 

“Whatever.” He shucked his shorts in one easy action, smirking as Spock's eyes focused instantly on his semi-hard then watched Jim's hand cup and rub himself for a second before he turned, calling back over his shoulder. “I guess I'll have to soap everything myself, then.”

He must be losing his touch, Spock didn't follow. That wouldn't do.

~*~

He'd have to ask Bones if Vulcans had any reptilian DNA in their make-up. Spock had to be part-lizard, lying out in the full sun, soaking it up as it blazed down to the point where Jim was surprised the beach's sand hadn't started to fuse into glass. He had to admit that, even more than usual, Spock was looking spectacular. His shoulders gleamed with a light olive sheen where the heat was warming him through, a clingy pair of dark gray shorts that left nothing to Jim's already over-active imagination his only garment, nothing else in the way to hide each and every flat plane and muscle, every tuft of soft hair, each inch of silky skin. Spock's bare feet were propped flat against the lounger's surface, his knees supporting the PADD he hadn't taken his eyes off all morning, the burning white sunshine glossing his hair to a mirror shine as he continued to work on whatever made up his idea of a relaxing vacation's reading material. 

If it hadn't been so frickin' hot, the temperature creeping up into the one-twenties already, Jim wouldn't have thought twice about seeing whether or not the exquisitely worked lounger could deal with their combined weight. They were alone here, purposefully stranded on one of several thousand tiny islands that made up the Ichedad's domain, nothing and nobody around for countless kilometers except an ocean full of small silver fish, and Spock looking like a wet dream. But the cooling effect of Jim's swim was already wearing off, his skin itching as water droplets immediately evaporated under the sun's harsh rays, his head beginning to spin with heat once more. There was unfortunately no way in hell he'd be able to jump Spock out here as thoroughly as Spock deserved to be jumped.

“The water's great.” He dropped his weights, mask, fins and breathing tube at Spock's feet, Spock shaking a few drips of sea water off one of his ankles in delicate distaste as Jim reached across it to grab a towel, scrubbing crusting mineral salts off his skin. “That reef is unbe-fucking-lievable. You've got to come in with me.”

“I am currently engaged.”

“I'll make it worth your while. Ever done it in the sea?”

“'It'?” Spock's eyebrow flickered upwards although he didn't pause in his work. “Are you inquiring if I have engaged in sexual congress submerged in water?” 

Spock's tone made it clear that he might as well have asked Spock if he'd ever fucked on top of an open casket at a funeral. Jim slid his hand up Spock's lower leg, his fingers teasing Spock's sparse leg hair as he went. 

“Don't knock it if you haven't tried it. Besides, it's too hot out here, I can hardly breathe. Either you lose the shorts and we go skinny dipping together, or I'm going to have to go inside to siesta my butt off till it starts cooling down.”

His fingers continued to follow the line of Spock's leg up to his knee, then down one lean thigh to pluck at the leg of the, honestly, illogical shorts Spock had been wearing all morning. As hot as it was and alone as they were, it felt awesome to walk around butt-naked after so many months cooped up in a starship without access to privacy or natural light. Jim wasn't intending to let so much as an inch of clothing touch his skin until ten minutes before the Enterprise arrived back in the area to pick them up. He pushed his fingers under the leg of the shorts, feeling his way over a smooth, velvety hip as he aimed for the satiny pubes he'd developed something of a fetish for during the past few months. Spock watched Jim's fingers progress before raising inky eyes already narrowed in arousal to meet Jim's. 

“The notion of a siesta is not without its merits.”

“Then let's go back to bed.”

“We should also consume some manner of sustenance. You have not eaten this morning.”

“Sure I have. Oh,” Jim grinned and tugged gently at Spock's bush, his index fingertip sliding down further as Spock allowed his knees to fall open. “You're talking about actual food.”

~*~

High above the bed, framed by those carved figures twisting and screaming in a mix of ecstasy and agony, the pin-pricks of light that were the bedroom's few small windows shone so bright with the merciless sun outside that Jim could only look up into them for a second or two, pink-blue flashes behind his eyelids recalling their triangular shape when he closed his eyes once more and pressed his face back against Spock's chest. 

The prickle of hair regrowth against his cheek reminded him once more why they were here, the patch of stubbled skin beneath his face colored with a pale khaki tint of new flesh growth. Jim was aware the few inches of his back that Spock was stroking in circles bore an over-pink flush, the nerves feeling skittery and mixed up. Maybe it'd take more than a long weekend's shore leave to allow the physical scars to heal, but this was a start for the mental ones, the memories becoming more distant with each minute he spent wrapped in silence and Spock's arms. He closed his eyes, Spock's mouth pressing gently against his forehead in mute answer to the wave of mental gratitude he'd tried to send Spock's way through the touch of Spock's skin against his own.

“What are you planning to do this afternoon?” His voice was muffled against Spock's chest, his hand stroking over Spock's taut stomach to grab a hip and tug Spock closer into him. “Come for a swim with me.”

“Our time in the domain is limited, and my study of the island's geology is incomplete.”

“You're not spending all weekend on that PADD.”

Spock's fingers paused in their circling. “Agreed.”

“Not working on it right now doesn't count.” Jim had finally started to get a grip on the stolidly literal nature of Vulcan semantics. “You don't want to see one of the galaxy's oldest known manufactured reefs? The carvings extend down as far as I was able to make it before my ears threatened to burst. It's like living art down there.”

“I have viewed the holofiles.”

“It's not the same as seeing it with your own eyes, experiencing it all around you. You know that.” 

“You are correct, which is why I would value the opportunity to study the mount's geology first hand, at its summit.”

“I can't climb a mountain in this heat.”

“I estimate it will take me fewer than three point four hours to ascend, collate the data I require and return, which would allow you the time you require for further diving.” Spock's voice had softened into that low, gentle purr that always made Jim melt like an ice cube would outside in that heat. He'd never heard Spock use this voice with anyone else. This was his, and his alone. “Is it your intention that we spend every moment of our allotted time on the island in the company of each other, or is time spent on lone activity permitted?”

“'Permitted'? Dammit, Spock, it's a vacation, it's not like there's a rule book.” Silence, Spock's hand flat to Jim's back as he no doubt picked up on Jim's frustration. And then disregarded it, no reaction forthcoming from him in response. Jim sighed and squinted up at the triangular windows, which were blazing down at him in streams of molten white gold as the sun descended further towards the far horizon. “No, we don't have to spend every second together. I think you'd get a kick out of the reef, though.”

“I will look forward to hearing your description.”

“Y'know, I was thinking this place might be nice for a honeymoon, but not if you're determined to work the whole time we're here. Part of the idea of a good vacation is shared experiences, so we get to go home and reminisce about all the stuff we did together . . .” Jim lost his train of thought as Spock sat up in the bed next to him, staring down at Jim with an intensity in his eyes that made the blazing windows above seem about as bright as the black walls in Astrometrics. “What? Don't get in a piss, it's okay if you want to work on your dull-as-fuck study instead. Whatever floats your boat, I guess.”

“Honeymoon?” Shit, Spock's eyes were close to phasing a hole right through him. “You are referring to marriage?”

The blush started at the back of Jim's ears, sweeping up over his face and drying his mouth out as he gulped for air and tried to silence the buzzing in his head. He hadn't noticed the M word escaping, and it had fallen from his lips as naturally as Spock's name. It had to be a side effect of his injuries, that one big knock to the head he'd gotten. Yeah. That was it. 

“Marriage? No, no no, no no no, I was talking in abstracts, like, you know, honeymoon as in romantic getaway, like this one but longer, I mean, we've only been fuh – uh, physically intimate for two months, so it's a little early to be discussing getting engaged, right?” He reminded himself to breathe slow and calm in and out, laying a hand flat over his chest where his heart seemed to be trying to escape. “Whew. Fuck, I'm not proposing or anything. God, no. I haven't even said 'I love you' yet.”

Spock's head quirked, an eyebrow disappearing into his bed-mussed bangs. “You love me?”

Jim blinked, his heart stuttering in his chest before giving one emphatic pump. Then he spurred himself into action, swinging his legs off the bed and getting up to grab his diving bag from a heavily-carved side table. “Uh, sure, you know, maybe, whatever, but if you want to climb your mountain, you should make a start. It's going to be dark in a few hours.”

Spock was impassively observing him from the bed in a manner that made Jim unsure if he felt like an object of desire or more like a small furry animal being sized up by a many-toothed something a great deal higher up the food chain. The feeling followed all the way through to the bathroom, where Jim wiped down everything needing a wipe before escaping out to the beach again, allowing his diving weights to pull him down deep to where the carvings of nakedly cavorting six-breasted Basgrah devotees could distract him from panicky, over-vulnerable thoughts of love. Whatever that might be.

~*~

There had to be some way to install a tub like this somewhere on board the ship. Maybe he'd be able to persuade Bones it was therapeutic and get a special bathtub department attached to Sickbay or something, because Jim couldn't remember the last time he'd felt more mellow. His limbs floated without purpose or intent in the buoyant mineral waters, his butt hovering an inch off the bottom of a bathtub deep and wide enough to fit four of him inside with room to spare. One of the more active water jets had made sweet, considerate love to Jim's asshole a while back as he'd used one of the scented oils lined up along the tub's edge to jerk off with, and now he was letting the last of the afterglow filter out of him and into the water while gazing upwards watching the stars through the bath's crystal-domed cover. 

“You took your damn time. I was getting ready to send out the cavalry.”

A soft footfall had alerted him to Spock's presence, barely audible over the swish and bubble of the natural currents keeping the tub full. Jim tilted his head back to find Spock gazing down at him, skin burnished and glowing after the afternoon's sun, the light from the bathroom's few candles turning Spock into some ancient Egyptian god crafted in gold. “The Ichedad have no cavalry, and your current demeanor, in addition to the scent of your recent masturbatory activity, does not lead me to believe you were overly concerned with my whereabouts or well-being.”

Jim let his leg drape over one side of the tub, noting with smug satisfaction how Spock's eyes immediately traced the line of his thigh down along his hip to his exposed groin. “I was distracting myself from worrying about you.” He let the fingers of one hand trail down his inner thigh, spreading his legs wider. “It worked.”

Spock's nostrils flared as he took another deep intake of breath, drawing Jim's scent into himself, his voice dropping into a low rumble. “I am aware.”

Jim knew he looked good like this, rising up to his knees in the water as his skin glistened with water and a light sheen of the oil, kneeling in front of Spock to pluck at his shorts as the bath water streamed off his shoulders. “Get in the tub with me.”

Spock's eyes flickered in the semi-light. “I will fetch you a towel, and we will retire to the bed for the evening.” 

“No.” Jim palmed the swelling length of Spock's dick through his shorts, watching how Spock's lips parted half an inch as he squeezed. “Tub.”

A thrust, Spock hiking his hips towards Jim's hand. “I am unaccustomed to immersing myself in water.”

“I know, desert-dwelling species, I get that. But it's eight inches deep, and I won't let you drown.” Jim tugged the shorts down enough to press his nose into the froth of dark hair curling out the top. “I promise.”

“I am not concerned that I would . . .” Spock's words stuttered to a halt as Jim pulled the shorts down fully and started to tongue at the tip of Spock's jutting cock. A heavy swallow, fingertips starting to thread through the wet spikes of Jim's hair, and Spock continued. “Drowning is not my primary concern.”

Damn, this felt good. Jim's cock was making heroic attempts to get hard again, his semi caressed by the swirling water, his balls lifting and falling with the small waves generated by his movements as he began to suck at Spock in seriousness, long fingers curling around his scalp and jaw to guide rather than force. Jim had always liked giving head, to whatever sex or species he'd tried it with, but it was different with Spock, much like everything had been. Spock's sharp, bittersweet taste was an x-rated version of Proust's Madeleine, an exquisite pleasure strongly evocative of something crucial, some life-or-death condition that Jim couldn't identify, no matter how many times he tried. Every touch, every twitch against his tongue and at the back of his throat felt meant in a way he didn't understand, as being on his knees in front of Spock with Spock's dick filling his mouth felt like the thing he'd been born to do right from the first time it happened. 

But this wasn't going to get Spock wet, and Jim had been fixating on that of that since they'd arrived. How Spock's skin would slide against his, how Spock's flavor would mix with the metallic salts of the water. How Spock might lap the wetness off Jim with that rasping cat's tongue of his. The idea made Jim moan deep around Spock's dick and he pulled away, Spock's hips attempting to follow as Jim's lips withdrew. Jim licked the taste from them, Spock watching the motion of his tongue.

“You want more?” Jim moved away, back across to the other side of the tub. He settled on his knees again facing away from Spock to lean over the curved edge, using one hand to pull his cheeks apart to display his asshole, reaching down with one finger to rub over it. “Then you'll have to come get it.”

This was another thing that was different with Spock than it had been with anyone else. Jim had always been stripped for, the one watching as someone else arched their back, licked their lips and put on a show for him. Spock seemed to bring out his latent slut or exhibitionist, because Jim's dick stiffened further to rub against the smooth wet stone of the bathtub as he slid his finger inside his ass, meeting no resistance. The water was warm enough to have melted his muscles, his oil-slicked hole relaxed from where he'd been playing with it earlier and how he knew without turning to check that Spock was intently observing every second of this. He moaned and pushed another finger in up to the knuckle, the water swirling around his thighs as he pumped his hand and waited, wondering if Spock was going to make a move. Maybe he'd misjudged this. Maybe the water thing was too much. 

“Very well, you have my compliance. However, I am uncertain that I will be able to perform satisfactorily.”

The back of a hand brushed against Jim's, small waves of warm water lapping at his thighs and nuts as a figure moved through the liquid into place behind him, one slim digit thrusting its way inside of him to join his own. Jim grumbled his approval, slipping his hand out the way so Spock could replace Jim's fingers with his own. “You're doing okay so far. Oh, fuh-uck, yeah, right there.” 

Spock gripped Jim's hip, giving a low mutter as he aligned himself with Jim's body. “Non-aquatic or non-amphibian lifeforms pursing coitus within a liquid compound denser than the surrounding atmosphere is highly illogical.”

“Jesus, Spock, quit grousing and fuck me already.”

What was it about the water? Was it this, a hand sliding up his back slicking through the moisture, sliding against his skin to grip his shoulder? Or this, a rough tongue rasping at the back of his neck as hips slithered against his, Spock's scent rising in a heady mist. Fuck, maybe it was simply getting his own way, Jim biting down on his bottom lip and hiking his hips backward as the broad-brimmed tip of Spock's dick started to rub over his pucker. Every sensation seemed heightened, each slick of wet skin against skin, the touch of water against his thighs, balls and bobbing cock, and every scent stronger with the steam, Jim's head spinning as Spock began his push inside. 

“Ohh, ooh, damn, that's, uhh yeahh, fuck, Spock . . .”

Okay, so the water and the tiled walls carried his faltering, inarticulate response back to him, Jim wincing as he heard how pathetically cock-hungry he sounded as his butthole stretched around Spock, Jim's grunts and breathy curses less studly than he'd privately hoped his sex sounds would be. But then Spock's flat, wet stomach glided against the damp sweat- and oil-slick skin of Jim's back as Spock thrust in deeper, lips and tongue sucking wetness from Jim's shoulders as two hands stroked palmfuls of water up over his belly and chest, more up to drench his head and neck as a mouth drank from his skin itself. Spock was bathing him, anointing him in the greatest baptism Jim figured had happened to anyone, anywhere. This was good. This was, oh shit . . . Jim forgot all about how he'd figured he didn't need to come again soon, and lifted his hips, rising up to meet Spock's first full thrust.

The sound of flesh smacking against flesh was louder, echoing and percussive in here, a repetitive wet slapping as their rhythm built fast. It drove his lust higher as Jim humped his ass back against Spock, one unyielding hand wrapped around his neck, another around his straining dick. It was tougher in here to keep balance, Jim's legs scooting outwards with no grip and Spock following him down to fuck into him harder, sweat and steam dripping from Jim's hair into his face, his body juddering wetly as Spock continued to pound into him. Every muscle was taut with the effort it took not to slip fully into the bath, to hold his grip against the edge enough to meet Spock's thrusts, sucking on the wet fingers thrust into his mouth as Spock growled a mix of distaste and lust into the back of his neck.

“This will be the last time that we mate in this manner.”

“'Mating'? Shit, it's so hot when you call it that.” 

No matter what this was between them, Jim couldn't keep avoiding that it was something that, no matter how much he'd have it otherwise, he'd jumped into. Both feet, without looking, falling down and down into the bottomless pit of Spock's eyes without any way of stopping. Jim's head dropped forward and he closed his eyes, giving in to the building, uncoiling spiral of climax unwinding deep in the base of his nuts, in his asshole, in the tip of his dick where Spock's fingers were jacking him off beneath the bath's swirling currents. 

He could fight against any of it, because a struggle wouldn't change how this was what he wanted, for Spock to speak in terms of mating, or in the future tense, implying that Spock fully intended to keep fucking him until he was walking bowlegged for days after. To feel Spock inside him, and around him, a heartbeat against his side, a jaw against his chin, a touch, a kiss. A hand or strand of hair to wind his fingers into just because. A pair of eyes to look into from across a room. All of it. He wanted all of it, as clearly now as the glowing lights filtering through the water to dance across the walls and the two of them, their joined shadows a pornographic silhouette on the bathroom's far wall. 

“Oh, fuck, I'm close, I'm so close, Spock. I'm gonna – fuck, what are you, w-what are you doing?”

“You will not ejaculate into the bath water.”

A strong hand had flattened over Jim's chest, lifting him with inhuman strength as the other continued to stroke him beyond the point of stopping, the first swells and surges of orgasm threatening to break over him any second. He'd forgotten momentarily how Spock's thirst for his various tastes and sexual fluids far exceeded his own appetite for Spock's, his sweat, spit and semen fluids that Spock seek out every drop of, sucking hungrily at Jim's tongue, at his skin, biting at Jim's armpits and inner thighs, lapping Jim's cum from his stomach with a purr that would set every nerve in Jim's skin singing. 

But, as strong and as agile as Spock was, he was unused to doing anything in a full bathtub, let alone lifting a grown man whose skin was slippery and over-heated, a body that was too immersed in approaching climax to assist. Jim squawked as they slipped, lost their balance and toppled over together, his orgasm hitting him hard as Spock's dick slipped from his ass and Spock hit the water face first. 

Laughing, and shooting, snorting up a sinusful of water and trying not to drown as your insides knotted themselves up then rearranged themselves into a molten pool of bliss, was a new experience, one that Jim tried his hardest to enjoy as well as survive. He rolled and spluttered his way to the surface, his body involuntarily convulsing with aftershocks and his ass clenching hard as he wiped water and fuck knows what else out of his eyes to start laughing harder.

“Oh, fuck, I think I inhaled half the tub, but it's worth it for the look on your face alone.”

Spock had managed to push himself up and into a sitting position, water dripping from his bangs, his ears, his nose and his aggravated, curling lips. His eyes narrowed further as Jim's laughter grew in volume, Spock shaking the water from his hands and wiping over his face in chilly aversion.

“Oh, God, stop, it hurts.” Jim clutched at his side, chuckles shaking his body until his ribs ached, his thighs twitching with ongoing spasms. “You looked like someone tried to drown you in snot or something. It's only water.”

“Perhaps I should be gratified that you find my discomfort amusing.” 

It was icily stated with great precision, Jim leaning back to catch his breath as a wave of water poured off Spock, who stood, gracefully exiting the tub to grab the closest towel, his bouncing erection ignored as he hurriedly toweled himself as dry as he was able to. Jim closed his eyes and allowed himself to enjoy the sensation of the water for a moment longer on his post-coital body, the water swirling softly against his sensitive, softening dick, sending shivers and goosebumps all over his skin. Then he sighed, leaning forward to regretfully thumb at the control to drain the tub.

“I'm sorry. I am, honest.” He reached out to take another, smaller towel, letting the water drip freely from his skin as he reached up to ruffle Spock's hair and start to dry it. “You know how I get giggly when I'm cum happy, and you looked like a Klingon finding himself stuck in a princess party full of seven year olds wearing pink sparkles. Don't pout.”

“Vulcans do not pout.”

“Sure they do. Mine does.” Jim kissed the evidence, his hands on Spock's hips drawing him closer, his chuckle smothered in Spock's lips as two insistent hands began to scrub his chest dry with the towel. He caught Spock's jaw with his fingers and drew back to find Spock's eyes focused on him from an inch away. “Did you hear what I called you?”

“You did not call me anything.” Spock was smiling now he was beginning to dry off, his mouth softened, his eyes creased at the corners. “The suggestion that you consider me to be yours was implicit, not explicitly stated.”

“Must you be a pedant even when I'm trying to tell you that I love you?”

It felt like he was going to have a heart attack, all the warm happies of Jim's recent, second orgasm chased away as he waited for what might happen. Was it even okay to mention love to a Vulcan? Was it going to be just another one of his messy, all-too-human characteristics that a long-suffering Spock tolerated, like his weakness for a wet, watery screw? There was a moment's pause, then a considered nod. 

“I must.”

But it was okay, because a mouth was pressing at his again, arms around him, a rough tongue against his, and smooth, damp skin shifting and pressing in, and the certainty that whatever he felt, Spock returned it. It was something Jim knew, like he'd always known with Spock, right from the beginning, how more was going on behind that blank facade than anyone else would ever know. Except him, however that was possible. Jim wrapped his hand around the root of Spock's dick for a couple of strokes, pulling one earlobe between his teeth to nibble on before breathing the words into Spock's ear.

“Alright then, Mr. Relentless Pedagogue. I guess we'd better finish you off the old fashioned way.” He smiled into Spock's neck as the body against his went rigid, Spock looking over tentatively towards the bath as if Jim intended to try again. Jim's hands and words began to ease the tension out of Spock as he directed him towards the bedroom instead. “For a logical fuck in a logical location, because I'm in love with a Vulcan and that's the extremely logical bed I've made for myself.”


End file.
